Kilmeny of the Orchard eBook

Mr. Marshall was very proud of his son’s success
in college, but he had no intention of letting him
see it. He loved this boy of his, with the dead
mother’s eyes, better than anything on earth,
and all his hopes and ambitions were bound up in him.

“Well, that fuss is over, thank goodness,”
he said testily, as he dropped into his favourite
chair.

“Didn’t you find the programme interesting?”
asked Eric absently.

“Most of it was tommyrot,” said his father.
“The only things I liked were Charlie’s
Latin prayer and those pretty little girls trotting
up to get their diplomas. Latin is the language
for praying in, I do believe,—­at least,
when a man has a voice like Old Charlie’s.
There was such a sonorous roll to the words that
the mere sound of them made me feel like getting down
on my marrow bones. And then those girls were
as pretty as pinks, now weren’t they?
Agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my opinion.
I hope it’s true that you’re courting
her, Eric?”

“Confound it, father,” said Eric, half
irritably, half laughingly, “have you and David
Baker entered into a conspiracy to hound me into matrimony
whether I will or no?”

“I’ve never said a word to David Baker
on such a subject,” protested Mr. Marshall.

“Well, you are just as bad as he is. He
hectored me all the way home from the college on the
subject. But why are you in such a hurry to
have me married, dad?”

“Because I want a homemaker in this house as
soon as may be. There has never been one since
your mother died. I am tired of housekeepers.
And I want to see your children at my knees before
I die, Eric, and I’m an old man now.”

“Well, your wish is natural, father,”
said Eric gently, with a glance at his mother’s
picture. “But I can’t rush out and
marry somebody off-hand, can I? And I fear it
wouldn’t exactly do to advertise for a wife,
even in these days of commercial enterprise.”

“Isn’t there anybody you’re
fond of?” queried Mr. Marshall, with the patient
air of a man who overlooks the frivolous jests of
youth.

“No. I never yet saw the woman who could
make my heart beat any faster.”

“I don’t know what you young men are made
of nowadays,” growled his father. “I
was in love half a dozen times before I was your age.”

“You might have been ‘in love.’
But you never loved any woman until you met
my mother. I know that, father. And it
didn’t happen till you were pretty well on in
life either.”

“Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother
like mine his standard of womanly sweetness is apt
to be pitched pretty high. Let’s drop the
subject, father. Here, I want you to read this
letter—­it’s from Larry.”

“Humph!” grunted Mr. Marshall, when he
had finished with it. “So Larry’s
knocked out at last—­always thought he would
be—­always expected it. Sorry, too.
He was a decent fellow. Well, are you going?”